


Life with Derek: Fairly Local Remix

by unoriginal_liz



Series: Five (+1) Rooms with a View [2]
Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginal_liz/pseuds/unoriginal_liz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - instead of the McDonalds moving to London post family-blending, the Venturis move to Toronto instead.</p>
<p>He couldn’t understand it.  He was being <i>Derek Venturi</i> as hard as he could…why was everything going so wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life with Derek: Fairly Local Remix

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, if the deck had been stacked in Casey's favour instead of Derek's. So...Life with Casey. It was a lot of fun to write Derek as being totally out of his element. 
> 
> But I really wrote this fic because there was a snarky line about how Casey probably expected a complimentary fruit basket when she started at school...and the thought of Derek actually receiving a complimentary fruit basket in that same situation cracked me up.

_**“You must be really worried I’m going to get what I want.”** _

_**“Oh please, I have home-house advantage. Besides, in my house? I always get what I want.”** _

*****

There were certain sentences Derek did not want to hear from his father.

“You’re grounded,” was one.

“I swear I parked the car _somewhere_ around here. I think...” was another.

And, his all-time least favorite – “Derek – _enough_!” (although that one was less about the actual words, and more about his dad’s tone of voice).

However, none of these even came close to the ear-assaulting horror of...

“Toronto?” he repeated slowly. Beside him, Edwin blinked, while Marti wondered, “Where’s Tonto?”

“It’s just another part of Ontario, Marti,” his dad said, scooping her into his lap.

“Yeah, a part none of us want to move to. Why can’t _they_ be the ones to move?” he demanded.

“Well, we discussed that, and...we came to the conclusion that this was the...best option,” his dad said.

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “For who?”

George sighed. “Casey is a straight-A student, and a change in routine could be very upsetting for her.”

“And what about me? What about upsetting me, huh?”

Dryly, his dad said, “It’s less of a risk upsetting a straight-C student.”

“Uh, dad – Derek’s not a straight-C student,” Edwin interrupted.

His dad sighed. “I know. But I’d like Cas- I mean, _Nora_ – to think that we’re redeemable. Anyway,” he directed a look at Derek that made his blood run cold, “I thought the move might also solve that little difficulty.”

Derek squinted suspiciously at him. “How so?”

“Well, you know how your teachers are always saying to me, ‘Derek could do so much better, if only he wasn’t so...easily distracted’?” His dad was still looking at him, unblinking, and it freaked him out. “And I started thinking, when Casey outlined her proposal” –

Derek sucked in a breath. He _knew_ it! This stupid scheme had _her_ uptight, control-freak fingerprints all over it! He shook his head. “Congratulations, dad – you just got _out-negotiated_ by a fifteen year old girl!” 

Was it any wonder they didn’t have a pool?

“As I was saying,” his dad continued, with a glare, “I thought, maybe this is an opportunity for Derek to prove what he can do, when the... _distractions_...are taken away.”

“Why – are the girls in Toronto really ugly?” Edwin asked.

“You’ve met Casey,” Derek shot back.

“I think Casey’s pretty. She’s a ballerina,” Marti offered. “She can touch her toes.”

Derek muttered, “She can kiss my” –

“Derek!” George turned to Edwin. “No, Edwin, the girls in Toronto are perfectly normal. As you know, because you’ve met...Casey...” he trailed off at the end of the sentence, somewhat sheepishly.

“Then I don’t see how moving to Toronto is going to change anything. Derek’ll just be distracted by the girls in a new city.”

He leapt upon this thankfully. “He’s right, dad – so you should totally call Nora and tell her the move is off.”

“Unless of course, by ‘remove distractions’ you really meant...remove Derek’s hands. And his eyes,” Edwin mused, with all the dispassionate interest of a boy who had received a science kit for his last birthday.

“That’s mean!” Marti cried, and from her vantage point on their dad’s lap she tried to smack him, and ended up poking George in the eye.

“No, Marti, removal of any of Derek’s body parts won’t be necessary,” his dad explained patiently, one hand wrapped around Marti’s wrists, the other clamped over his eye.

There was a rushing noise in Derek’s head as his dad spoke, so he was sure he couldn’t have heard the next few words right.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way you just said _‘all-boys private school,’_ right?”

*****

It was...clean. There were flowers in a vase on the kitchen table. Modern art blended tastefully with the neutral paint on the walls. It smelled of pine-forest, and there was a hand-painted banner with ‘WELCOME VENTURIS!’ written on it, hanging from the wall.

Derek loathed it instantly – even before he saw the...rodent in a cage in the hallway, exercising (or _training_ ) in its wheel and looking at him with its beady almost-mouse eyes as if to say, ‘Just you wait.’ He later learned that it was called ‘Horatio’, and that Lizzie considered it ‘one of the family.’ (Granted, the kid had Casey as a sister, but still...)

And, then unbelievably, it got even worse.

“I have to share a room with _Edwin_?”

“Oh,” his dad said, eyes darting guiltily, “I thought I mentioned that. Did I not mention that?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” Derek said, through gritted teeth. He dropped the box he was carrying and announced, “We have a problem.”

“I told you to lift with your knees!” the most annoying girl in the entire world said as she stepped around him.

“Not that,” he stressed. “The room. See, I don’t share.”

“Then here’s your chance to learn,” Casey advised. She flashed a smile and made a ‘pick it up’ gesture towards the box at his feet. “Think of it as a bonding experience.”

“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Nora said in a placating voice. “But...we really don’t have the space for any alternative arrangements.” She smiled hopefully at him. “Lizzie and Marti are sharing too” –

“And you don’t hear them complaining about it,” his dad cut in.

“I didn’t know I was allowed to complain,” Lizzie said. She glanced towards Casey.

“My barbies have to sleep standing up,” Marti said piteously.

“Or they _weren’t_ ,” his dad sighed.

“Wow, Derek,” Casey said, with fake amazement in her voice, “Two hours and you’re already inciting everyone to mutiny. Is that a personal record?”

“Not even close,” he warned with a steely smile. He turned to his dad and Nora. “What I want to know is why _Casey_ gets a room to herself, when the rest of us are forced to endure cruel and unusual bonding experiences?”

George and Nora exchanged a look. “Well...Casey needs her own private space to study in, Derek. Casey takes her studies very seriously.”

The new system ranked them by _schoolwork_? What was wrong with the old system – Derek’s the oldest, so give Derek what he wants? He didn’t remember any of these problems cropping up under that system.

“That’s not fair!”

“Actually, I think you’ll find it’s _scrupulously_ fair,” Casey interrupted.

“Well, I’m not doing it,” Derek said, folding his arms and glaring challengingly between his dad, Nora and Casey.

“Derek,” his dad began in a low, bargaining tone. Derek thought he could work with that tone. But Casey placed a hand on his dad’s arm and said, “Please, George...let me.”

She looked at Derek and said, with condescending sweetness. “You’re feeling overwhelmed, Derek. I understand.”

“Since _you’ve_ got your own room, I really don’t think you do. If you want to ‘understand’ –here’s a thought...you can squash in with Marti and Lizzie, and I’ll take your room.”

She half-smiled perfunctorily, but disregarded his words. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you try this arrangement for a few days, and if you still have problems, you’re free to raise them at our weekly family meeting.”

“Weekly family meeting?” he repeated.

She nodded. “This is a big change for both our families. I – that is, _we_...felt that frequent meetings should serve to highlight potential problems and dispel tensions during this difficult period of adjustment.”

He stared at her.

“So how about we discuss your little problem – at the family meeting?”

“Okay,” he said slowly, one step away from baring his teeth. “Or hey...instead of _talking_ about the problem, how about we actually DO SOMETHING to fix it?”

He stared her down. “ _Now_.”

*****

As Derek attempted to get to sleep that night, over the unfamiliar smell of failure (that smelled a lot like Edwin’s feet, now that he thought about it), he tried to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Casey had home-court advantage, he decided. No way would things have gone down like that, if the McDonalds had moved to London, like they were _supposed to_. But he was in unfamiliar territory, and it had thrown him off his game.

Between the new overly-hygienic home, new room/storage closet, and new underly-girled school, was it any wonder he’d – briefly – fumbled and allowed his opponent to score some points?

Well, he might be the underdog at the moment, but he was determined to change that.

*****

Unfortunately, the next morning it seemed that fate (and by fate, he meant Casey – and his dad’s sudden and inexplicable prioritization of stepchildren over biological offspring), was conspiring to keep him off balance.

Example the first – Casey was wearing a kilt. A _kilt_. She was walking around with the plaid equivalent of a kick-me sign…and even though Derek had plenty of good material in response to _her_ material – he was mute. He was mute because –

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Nora said, and hid her mouth behind her hand.

His dad choked on a combination of coffee and laughter.

“Smerek’s playing dress up!” Marti announced, before offering him her cat-ear hairband. He declined.

Edwin stared. “You’re not actually going to wear that – right, Derek?”

“Why not?” Casey asked. “It’s just a uniform. And let’s not forget that both of Derek’s future employment prospects – convict or fast food employee – involve uniforms. He should welcome this opportunity.”

He was being insulted by someone wearing a _kilt_. It was impossible for things to get any worse.

“I think Derek looks nice,” Nora said.

“He looks like Casey,” Lizzie contributed. “But in a boy-way.”

No, he was wrong. It could get worse.

As he and Casey exchanged twin grimaces of horror, Nora cocked her head to the side. “You know something, Lizzie? You’re right. You two look like those kids – you know, the ones from _The Sound of Music…_ ” She pointed her finger as she remembered, “The Von Trapps!”

George smiled as he remembered, “Oh yeah. Man, those kids were such dorks.” Unaware of his mistake, he shook his head, and chuckled.

“Well, I have been feeling pretty _Von Trapped_ lately,” Derek glared at his father. 

“Why don’t you have some breakfast, Derek?” Nora said hastily.

He directed his answer towards Edwin. “I don’t know – why don’t I?”

Edwin immediately placed a cereal bowl and spoon in front of him, before passing him –

“What…is this?” He examined the carton. In bold letters it proclaimed itself to be ‘So Good’…which would have been reassuring if it also didn’t also state that it was ‘fat free’ and that it had an ‘improved taste’.

“It’s soy milk,” Lizzie said.

“It’s a healthy, low cholesterol alternative to cow’s milk,” Casey know-it-alled.

“And is it as disgusting as it sounds?” Derek asked, pouring a thin trickle into Edwin’s glass. He squinted suspiciously at it.

“You get used to it,” Lizzie shrugged.

“We Venturis like to get our milk from our beef,” Edwin said. “It just feels more natural that way.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Nora sounded amused.

Derek pushed the carton away.

“You’re not even going to try it?” Casey asked, folding her arms.

“I don’t need to try it to know that I won’t like it,” he said.

“But if you tried it, you might find that you _do_ like it. And when you consider the health benefits” –

“Believe me,” he interrupted, meeting her eyes challengingly, “I’ve got really good instincts when it comes to disgusting things I won’t ever like.”

Casey snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes at him. Smugly, he reached for his cereal-sans-milk, only to find –

“If you’re having trouble deciding between the Organic Millet Oat Rice Bran or the Organic Flax Plus with Pumpkin Seeds, might I recommend the Flax Plus?” Casey offered politely. “All natural ingredients with no additives or preservatives – it’s an excellent source of fibre.” This time, it was her turn to look smug.

“It sounds gross,” Edwin said.

“No, what’s ‘gross’ is what the artificial dyes in colored cereal do to your body,” Casey corrected.

“If you eat too much Cap’n Crunch, it turns your stomach lining blue,” Lizzie explained.

“Really?” Edwin asked. “…COOL!”

Derek meanwhile stared at the box, which, judging from Casey’s description, probably had the exact same flavor as its contents.

Just when he thought this ‘whole new life’ thing couldn’t suck any harder – it turned out to be _sugar free._

*****

“Welcome to St. Andrew’s – my name is Evan McGill. Please accept this complimentary fruit basket and tuck in your shirt. That’s a warning.”

Derek blinked at the guy over the enormous cellophane covered basket of fruit he was now inexplicably holding. “Really? Cause it sounded more like advice.”

“I’m a prefect, and part of my duty as prefect is to ensure that students have a proper respect for the uniform,” Evan said, ignoring Derek.

“I’m supposed to respect…this?” he asked, grimacing down at his dark (and itchy) pants and shiny black shoes.

“St Andrew’s prides itself on its students’ respect for discipline and authority,” Evan continued. He handed Derek a booklet. On the cover there was an earnest looking boy wearing a St Andrew’s uniform and carrying a thick book (presumably as a weapon, to ward off the ass-kickings that the uniform cordially invited). “Our code of conduct is at the back,” he offered helpfully. “You might want to memorize it.”

“I might?” Derek asked. He paused, then decided, “It’s the uniform. It sends out the wrong impression."

“Minor infractions incur a warning,” Evan bulldozed ahead. “Three warnings land you in the sin bin.”

“The sin bin?”

“Yeah. You have to stay after school, and the Vice Principal gives you these essays to rewrite. All the ‘e’s are missing, and you have to put them back in.”

Derek considered this. “You do realize that using a hockey term to describe that…doesn’t make it less lame?”

Evan looked at him. The way the light shone off his glasses made him look slightly sinister. “You still haven’t tucked your shirt in,” he said. “That’s another warning. You might want to listen – to incorporate a sense of collaboration and accountability, students are divided into teams. We have an assembly every month to congratulate the team with the fewest warnings. Some of the guys are kind of competitive about it, so I would advise you to…smarten up. Your classmates won’t thank you if the team has to take one for your sloppiness.”

“And the guys at this school seriously go along with this?” Derek asked slowly.

Evan shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like we have anything else to focus on.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “About that…how do you do it?”

“What?”

“School. Without girls. How do you do it?” Derek indicated the grim, girl-less hallway. “I mean, when I came to school before, I felt like I was accomplishing something. But now…” he shook his head. “What am I supposed to do? Work?”

Evan regarded him stoically. “Yes,” he said.

Derek thumped his forehead against his locker.

“Anyway, it’s not like we never see any girls,” Evan continued. “We have debates every month with our sister school, St Catherine’s.”

Derek spread his arms wide, as if appealing against the insanity. “Girls – as an _extra-curricular_ activity?”

“The competition’s pretty fierce, but if you’re really desperate, you could always try out for a spot on the team.”

Derek stared at him. “I’m _Derek Venturi_ – I don’t do desperate.”

Evan shrugged. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you’d better put your name in fast. There’s a vacancy coming up in about two years, and if your application isn’t within the first fifty, you might as well forget it.” He looked to his left, where a kid with dark hair was closing his locker door, and called, “French!”

He turned back to Derek. “If you’ve got any more questions, I’m sure French would be happy to answer them for you, right, French?”

“Sure,” French agreed, appearing at Evan’s shoulder. “Anything to be of service.” He saluted.

Evan sighed. “Truman French, Derek Venturi. And Venturi – tuck in that shirt!”

They both watched as Evan walked away without waiting for a response. Derek dropped his fruit basket and booklet on the floor.

“So…” Truman quirked an eyebrow at him. “First day. How’re you feeling?”

“Punk’d.”

“Yeah – that’s the standard reaction.” He scrutinized Derek carefully before asking, “Got any sisters?”

Derek frowned. “Yeah, one. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Truman shrugged. “Age? Height? Measurements?”

“Marti’s six,” he said carefully.

“In that case, your classroom’s down the hall, and I’ll see you around,” Truman said, interest in Derek suddenly nosediving. “Stay in touch.”

He smiled impersonally, and clapped him on the shoulder before walking away.

*****

Almost as soon as he got home (right after he’d changed out of his uniform and kicked it into a corner), he rounded up Marti and Edwin.

He paced the narrow strip of floor between his bed and Edwin’s. They watched him patiently. Finally, he said, “Okay. So, the way I see it is – we’ve lost our home, our rooms, our friends...and even our sugar. All because dad wants to play Happy McFamilies with Nora – and that’s not fair, right?”

“Right!” Marti agreed, bouncing on his bed for emphasis.

“I agree,” Edwin said, sounding cautious. “But it’s not like we can do anything about it.” He shrugged.

“Oh, can’t we?” Derek asked.

Edwin scrambled onto his knees. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking...we establish Venturian dominance.”

Edwin frowned. “You think we can do that? I mean, we’re pretty deep in enemy territory.”

“Oh please – look who we’re talking about. Casey Compulsive and her back-up singer? They don’t stand a chance against team Venturi.”

“Yeah!” Marti shrieked. She pounded her tiny fists against his pillow. Derek regarded her with pride and fondness. 

“So...what do you want us to do?” Edwin asked.

Derek stared at him. “Do what comes naturally to a Venturi! Go forth and prank! Prank like you’ve never pranked before!”

He made shooing motions as Edwin and Marti saluted.

*****

“Mr Venturi, can I see you for a minute?”

Derek waited as the rest of the class filed out. Mr Rodowsky – he hadn’t really been paying attention, but he was pretty sure he taught English – came out from behind his desk. He looked…well, he looked huge.

“I notice that you didn’t hand in your assignment,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“You noticed that, huh?” he said.

“May I ask _why_ you didn’t hand it in?”

Maybe it was the fact that, while Nora had promised to buy something appropriately sugar laced next time she went grocery shopping (much to Casey’s displeasure), for now he was running on organic cereal. _No-one_ could come up with a convincing lie fuelled by pumpkin seeds and flax.

“Because I didn’t do it,” he said.

“Why not?” Rodowsky asked, eyes narrowing.

Derek blinked. “Because I...didn’t do it,” he repeated. Surely this was self-explanatory? Maybe he had it wrong – maybe the guy taught Spanish or something...was there a language barrier?

“Why not?”

Derek stared at him.

Rodowsky stared right back, looking Derek up and down, lips pursed like he’d tasted some Millet Oat Rice Bran. Derek was feeling decidedly uncomfortable when he finally broke the silence.

Rodowsky said, “You know, this school prides itself on its reputation for academic excellence. St Andrew’s sets the highest standards for its students, and generally, students respond to this by achieving excellence in all areas of school life. Do you know what happens when I see someone who is clearly wasting his potential?”

Derek jumped as his fist slammed down on the desk. Then the guy ran his hand across the grey stubble on his head and said, “I _make him_ achieve it!”

He rolled up his sleeves.

Derek stared at him apprehensively.

Rodowsky reached into his desk and withdrew a copy of the class novel. In a normal voice, he said, “Pull up a chair. Now, if you remember, chapter one ends with the young and sensitive Jane locked into the red room, all alone. How do you think she’s feeling, Venturi?”

A whole room all to herself? “Lucky?” he hazarded.

*****

“So?” Derek asked impatiently.

“I’ve been leaving the toilet seat up,” Edwin offered.

“That’s not a prank – that’s instinct!”

“And I emptied a bottle of purple stuff down there. Though...I think that might have been toilet cleaner.”

Derek glared.

“What? I didn’t know it was toilet cleaner until afterwards,” Edwin defended. “It smelled like flowers!”

He turned to Marti. “Never mind...I bet _Smarti’s_ going to make me proud.” Marti nodded vigorously, and wriggled with glee.

“Okay, let’s have it. What did you do, Smarti?”

She moved closer to Derek and Edwin on the bed and bent her head. In her special-secret voice, she whispered, “I let Horatio out of his cage.”

Horatio.

_The rodent_.

Derek closed his eyes. “Of...course you did.”

She beamed.

As it turned out, this didn’t even phase the McDonalds. “Don’t worry Marti, I know it was an accident,” Lizzie comforted. “He’s still in the house – I’m sure he’ll turn up in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days?!”

“What’s the matter, Derek?” Casey asked. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little hamster?”

“Of course not,” he denied.

Casey regarded him for a moment. “Good,” she said finally, with the goody-two-shoes equivalent of a smirk on her face, “Because the room you’re in now...used to be Lizzie’s room. And Horatio probably remembers that.”

*****

It was like being cursed. Because he did things that he _knew_ would have worked in London – things that would have given him the upper hand in the McDonald-Venturi turf war...things that should have had Casey begging for mercy – but here, in Toronto, the closest he came to hearing said stepsister’s pleas was in his fantasies.

He took all her school shirts, and left dirty handprints in suggestive areas. She wore one of his shirts instead. Then, as a ‘thank you’, she washed all his shirts in Eau de Girl, leaving a froofy smell that just wouldn’t come out, that led to some majorly uncomfortable moments at school.

He hogged the shower, and she expressed concern for Marti having to wait to use the bathroom. That led to a dad and Nora endorsed timetable for the fair and equitable use of the shower. When she complained about cleanliness and he used her toothbrush to clean the soap scum off the sink, she organized a whole family demonstration of appropriate cleaning. He hid her science project. She began studying him, because “Human DNA differs from chimpanzee DNA by approximately 2%, but I’m sure I can prove that _in some cases_ , the difference is even less.”

Meanwhile, the casual, chill, too-cool-for-school thing that had generated a fan club in London…didn’t exactly have the same effect in Toronto. Other kids took his uncompleted homework (and the warnings that followed) as an insult and he got shouldered (in both the ‘cold’ and ‘literal’ meanings of the word) in the hallways. Mr Rodowsky took his lack of effort as a challenge and set him these stupid assignments meant to catch his interest. And the one thing – the one thing that he was counting on, both for coolness points and for the preservation of his _sanity_ , was denied him when the hockey coach said –

“Listen, Venturi – from what I’ve heard, you’ve got some issues you need to work through before I can put you on the ice. The worst thing I could do would be to give you a stick and puck and let you loose.” He scratched the back of his neck and said, “Believe me, you’ll thank me for this later.”

He couldn’t understand it. He was being _Derek Venturi_ as hard as he could…why was everything going so wrong?

*****

“Don’t feel bad, Derek,” Edwin ‘comforted’. “I mean, how were you to know Casey would have cue cards?”

Derek glowered at him.

“You have to admit, it was a kickass presentation,” he continued, oblivious. “Plus, you had to realize your ‘Turf Casey out so that I can have her room’ suggestion was never going to fly.”

He patted Derek’s shoulder. “Never mind,” he advised. “There’s always next week’s family meeting.”

Derek’s eyes flicked between Edwin’s hand and Edwin’s face. Edwin’s hand was hastily removed from its resting place.

“No,” Derek said calmly. “I’m not waiting another week. This room situation gets sorted NOW.”

Twenty minutes, one loud thump and a shriek later, and Casey limped into his room.

“In future, you’re going to have to knock first,” he said. “Knock…and then go away.”

“Derek – you can’t make Edwin sleep in the hallway!”

“I gave him a sleeping bag,” he protested.

She stared at him. “That’s not the point!”

“Then…what is the point?”

“The point is – _you can’t make Edwin sleep in the hallway_!”

“Why not?”

She opened and shut her mouth.

“Give me one good reason,” he challenged.

“I’ll give you three – it’s cruel, it’s uncomfortable, and people will trip over him!”

He looked at her. “A good reason would be one I cared about,” he stressed.

She marched right over to his bed, hands on hips. “You and Edwin sharing this room is the best option. We just decided that – _as a family_.”

“Well, I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

“Majority rule is how democracy works,” she informed him coldly, staring down at him.

He got to his feet. “Yeah, well, in our old house, we had a different system. It was more of a _Der_ -ocracy.”

“In case you haven’t noticed – that’s not how it works around here. So you are just going to have to learn how to compromise.”

His eyebrows shot so far up his forehead that for a moment he was afraid they’d leap right off his face. “Compromise?” he repeated disbelievingly, “You don’t even know the meaning of the word!”

“That’s funny,” she said. “Until you moved here – neither did you.”

She pivoted and left.

*****

“You do realize that you can’t make Edwin sleep in the hallway,” his dad said, sitting on the edge of Derek’s bed. Derek ignored him, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the ceiling.

George sighed. “Okay. I know this move hasn’t been easy on you, but…” he looked around the room. It didn’t take long. “…it’s not that bad, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, “Did you say something? Because you’re kind of getting drowned out by the smell of Edwin’s feet.”

“Oh – so _that’s_ what that is,” George said, sounding suddenly enlightened.

He cupped a hand behind his ear. “Could you repeat that – it’s kind of hard to concentrate over the claustrophobia.”

“Okay, Derek, point made.” George looked at him and sighed. “I’ll talk to Nora about the room – see if we can come up with something. I’m not promising anything, since space is kind of tight, but…I’ll try.” He held up a hand as Derek opened his mouth, “ _But_ …I need you to give this thing a chance, okay? If this new life is going to work, you’re going to have to make a little bit more of an effort.”

“Hey – I have made a _huge_ effort!”

“How? By picking all the pumpkin seeds out of Casey’s cereal, and giving them to Marti to make a collage?”

“That took a _lot_ of effort!”

George half smiled, but managed to pull it together. “I mean it, Derek. You’d make this a lot easier on yourself if you’d just” –

“Compromise?” he suggested bitterly.

*****

He was _never_ going to compromise. Because ‘compromise’ was just another word for ‘give in.’ So no matter how hard things got (and given that the last six words out of Mr Rodowsky’s mouth were, “Create a blog entry for Jane,” he was guessing that life wasn’t going to ease up on him anytime soon) he was not going to surrender.

“Can I be excused?” he asked.

Rodowsky consulted his watch. “Ten minutes, Venturi. We still have half a chapter to finish.”

He made his way down the corridor and into the bathroom, where he splashed water on his face before bracing his hands on the sink and contemplating his options for escape.

“I should probably ask you how you are.”

Derek whirled around. There in the corner was that kid – Truman. He had a cigarette in his hand and he blew out a contemplative stream of smoke before continuing. “I mean, St Andrew’s students pride themselves on being caring and involved members of the school community.”

He tried to look earnest and concerned, but it slipped into a smirk as he looked Derek up and down. “I take it you haven’t been assimilated yet.”

“If by ‘assimilated’ you mean, ‘Am I going to write a blog entry for some chick who puts the freak in freak out?’ Then, no.”

“Better things to do?” Truman raised his eyebrows, and took another drag on his cigarette.

“Actually, I’ve got similar things to do,” Derek said. “My stepsister could give this Jane Eyre chick a run for her melodrama.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s your stepsister?”

Derek frowned at Truman before deciding that right now, he was so low on the social totem pole that it didn’t matter. He dropped his head and said, in a low voice, “Casey McDonald.”

“ _Casey McDonald_?” Truman repeated, in the kind of hushed voice someone might use to say ‘Playboy’s Playmate of the Year’. “ _Casey McDonald_ – A-student, doesn’t go to parties, really cute in a buttoned-up way? You’re _Casey McDonald’s_ stepbrother? That’s…” he scrutinized Derek, and attempted to sound casual, “…interesting.”

“It’s really not.”

Truman ignored him. “I’ve been trying to get her attention for the last couple of months – and nothing. The girl’s harder to reach than the top of Mount Everest.”

Derek made a face. “Well, I’m not giving you any mountaineering tips,” he warned.

Truman leaned against the wall and asked, “So, what’s the McDonald like in her natural habitat?”

“Just as annoying as she is out of it.”

He shook his head. “What a waste. If it was me – I’d take full advantage of the opportunities presented. I mean, I know you can’t do anything about it, but at least you can appreciate the _spectacular_ view, right?”

Derek didn’t reply, since he was too busy dealing with the fact that his stomach was suddenly trying to exit his body. The day he ogled Casey McDonald, hell-demons would be digging out their winter woolies. The most he ever did (or would do), was assess her for structural weaknesses. And okay, yes, he knew her measurements/vital statistics/underwear preferences – but that was purely for pranking purposes.

Truman raised his eyebrows, and Derek felt all his pure, prank-related research become tainted by simple association with the guy’s smirk. He grimaced in distaste and remained silent.

Truman pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch. He grimaced. “Why don’t we finish this later?” He straightened up. “Hey – can you do me a favor? Can you hold this for a second?”

Derek automatically took hold of the cigarette as Truman passed it to him.

It was like a choreographed routine – as the stall door closed behind Truman, the bathroom door opened in front of Mr Rodowsky.

*****

“You know what that is, Venturi?” Rodowsky stopped pacing behind his desk for a second in order to point at the cigarette still in Derek’s hand.

“I’m guessing it’s” –

“Don’t interrupt!” he yelled. He resumed pacing. “ _That_ …is a cry for help.”

“Yeah, see, if you’d just let me” –

Rodowsky whirled around. “You need to understand something, Venturi!” he barked. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand to see, it’s a kid wasting his potential. And if I have to grind you beneath my heel in order to ensure that that doesn’t happen to you…I’ve got to warn you, I’m prepared to do it.”

“Thanks, but I’d hate to put you to all that trouble,” Derek tried, with a winning smile.

Rodowsky sighed. “You know – this doesn’t have to be a battle, Venturi.” He ran a hand over his head and fixed Derek with an unblinking, sincere stare. “Believe me – I’ve been where you are, and strange as it may sound, sometimes…sometimes you can’t win, until you lose.”

Derek frowned.

“Sometimes surrender is the smartest option,” he continued. “Sometimes, you’ve got to work the system from the inside to succeed.”

The words echoed inside Derek’s mind, sparking new and strange thoughts. 

Maybe…maybe this was where he’d gone wrong. Attempts to take Casey’s turf from her by force clearly hadn’t worked, but maybe…maybe all he needed in order to win some ground – was a new approach.

“Are you even listening, Venturi?” Rodowsky demanded suddenly.

“Weirdly…I think I am,” Derek said, almost to himself.

*****

Post lecture, as soon as Derek stepped outside the door, he received a sympathetic back slap from…someone (and hey – maybe if they all weren’t wearing the exact same outfit, this ‘getting to know people’ thing would be easier).

“Heard you got Frenched,” the guy said. “Don’t worry about it – it happens to everyone once.”

This time, the backslap was considerably less sympathetic. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen _again_. Our team’s bottom of the leaderboard thanks to you.”

All Derek could do was stare and hope that ‘lameness’ wasn’t spread by touch.

To add the final craptacular flourish, Truman was waiting by his locker.

“Hey – I just wanted to say thanks for taking the heat for me,” he said, straightening as Derek approached.

“It wasn’t really by choice,” Derek said pointedly.

Truman acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. “I’d have done it myself, but the parentals have been kind of…parental lately about school, so…” 

“So you’ve explained, and now you can leave, and never talk to me again. _That’s_ a warning.”

Truman raised his eyebrows. “What happened your sense of humor, Venturi?”

“Part of my punishment is to keep a ‘feelings’ diary for a week.”

Truman shook his head and sucked in air through his teeth. It seemed motivated partly by sympathy but mostly by amusement. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better.”

He handed Derek a slip of paper.

“A phone number?”

“Jessica. 5’5, long blonde hair…she’s a solid seven. Now, normally, I wouldn’t give any girl rated above a five to an unknown like you, without substantial compensation. But you did do me a favor, so...”

Derek stared at the scrap of paper in his hand. “You give out girls’ phone numbers for money?”

“Sometimes I take payment in homework,” Truman said. “Though I like to think of it as supplying a valuable service…contributing to the school community in my own little way.” He raised his eyebrows, sharing the joke.

“Well, I don’t need you to supply me with girls.” Derek held the piece of paper in front of Truman’s face before letting it flutter to the ground.

“Warning for littering, Venturi,” a voice called out.

Truman stooped to pick it up. “Independence…I like that. It’s a quality I appreciate in my friends.”

“And in the people who don’t give a crap about you, apparently.”

“Seriously, though, I owe you one. And the hand that holds the phone numbers, rules the school. So, if there’s anything I can do for you…”

Derek considered this. Obviously, this sudden helpfulness was motivated by Truman’s interest in Casey. On general lack of principle, he should be against this – the more people who showed any interest in Casey, the less chance of her ever shutting up and going away. However… _using_ Truman’s interest in Casey in order to achieve his own ends, ends which were of course anti-Casey in nature…

… _that_ was something he could get behind. Plus, he couldn’t successfully instigate stage one of the plan without taking care of one very important detail.

“Actually, there is something. Can you get me a spot on the debate team?”

“The debate team?” Truman asked. “Sure, but – I have to warn you, the girls are cute, but the payoff’s not worth the effort you have to put in.”

“Believe me, this payoff’s going to be huge,” Derek promised.

“Oh yeah?” Truman sounded interested, if sceptical.

“Yeah. Because after I resolve my own personal room issue…I’m going to re-girl this school.”

Truman raised his eyebrows. “Through debate club?”

“It’s my new philosophy,” Derek said. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

A smirk spread across his face. “And _then_ beat them.”


End file.
